Mirkwood Matters
by Jedi Sapphire
Summary: A collection of one-shots featuring Legolas and Thranduil. Most will be fluff, with minor angst/humour. Story #5: A King in Winter. Forced to lead his people north to escape the horror unleashed by the power of Sauron, Thranduil searches for peace.
1. Saying Farewell

**Note:** To avoid confusion, and too many one-shots littering the place, all future Legolas-and-Thranduil stories will be posted as further chapters of this. They won't be in chronological order (or any other kind of order). I hope nobody minds. *g*

**Summary:** After offering to accompany the Ring-bearer, Legolas makes a brief visit home to tell the Elven-king what happened at the Council of Elrond.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Calenlass, for advice, suggestions, and patience with questions.

Thanks also to Nina, for encouraging me not to abandon this story.

**Rating: **PG

**Disclaimer:** I _wish_ the Elves were mine.

* * *

**Saying Farewell**

Thranduil looked up at the sound of the knock. It had an odd, diffident quality, making him believe it was some young patrol captain coming to give him bad news. Briefly, he considered meeting whoever it was, and then decided against it. The reports he was reading demanded his full attention.

"See who it is," he told Istuion. "And tell them I'll see them in the morning."

The seneschal nodded, getting to his feet to answer the knock. Thranduil returned to the pages before him. He vaguely noted Istuion's surprised exclamation, followed by the hushed murmur of voices. He did not look up again until he heard soft footsteps and there came into the edge of his field of vision a slender figure dressed in the green and brown of the Greenwood warriors.

Thranduil groaned and raised his head, wondering how the Elf had persuaded Istuion to grant him entry against the King's explicit instructions.

He stopped short at the sight of the bright blue eyes looking in to his.

"Legolas!"

"_Aran nîn_," the young Elf said, although not in his usual light-hearted manner. He brought his fist to his heart and bowed his head. "_Elen síla lumenn' omentielvo. _The _elvellon _Baggins sends his regards."

"I thought you might change your mind when you saw who it was, my King," Istuion interjected smugly. "I take it neither of you will be coming to the dining hall?"

"Ask Galion to send us up some wine now," Thranduil responded, not taking his eyes off Legolas. "Tell him we will eat in the small dining room next to my chamber. And then you can have the rest of the evening off."

"As you command, my King," Istuion said, shooting father and son a glance of mingled amusement and affection as he slipped out.

Thranduil waited for the door to close before he said, "What have you done?"

Legolas' guilty start would have been enough to give him away, but he compounded his error by saying in a suspiciously casual manner, "Why should I have done anything, _Ada_?"

"I was not expecting you to return so soon. You can barely have spent a few days in Imladris. And you have clearly come to me straight from the saddle, without even stopping for a drink. I am not a fool, _ion nîn_. I know when you are anticipating unpleasantness and are hoping to get it over with quickly. What has happened?"

"Lord Elrond has sent some of his scouts to speak with you. I offered to escort them here and back."

"That explains why you are in Greenwood," Thranduil said. "Although I do not doubt that there is more to it. You must have ridden hard to reach the stronghold before word of your return to Eryn Galen could reach me. Even an Elf, and even one with as much boundless energy as you usually seem to have, would need rest after that. Yet you are here, _ion nîn_."

"Is it a crime to want to see my _Ada_?" Legolas asked, feigning injured innocence.

"_Penneth_, after all these centuries I know you too well to be undone by those eyes. Tell me the truth, and hurry up about it."

Legolas grimaced and threw himself into a chair.

"In truth, I wanted to see you before you spoke to Lord Elrond's messengers. There is something I must tell you."

"No doubt something calculated to take a few centuries off my life, like all your other escapades," Thranduil grumbled. "All right, Legolas. Out with it. What have you done?" He was interrupted by the arrival of Galion with the wine. The butler poured a cup for each of them, set the jug on a table and departed. As soon as he was out of the room, the Elven-king prompted, "Well?"

"_Ada_... The One Ring has been found."

Thranduil nearly dropped his wine cup in his shock.

"The One Ring? _Ai Elbereth_... No wonder Elrond's missive sounded so anxious. I thought it was uncharacteristic. That was the purpose of his Council, then?"

Legolas nodded.

"Apparently the... the creature Gollum had it for some five centuries before it was taken from him. I should never have let him escape! If I had known –"

"_Sîdh_," Thranduil said sternly, before his son could launch into self-condemnation. "You did _not _know, and that is that. You cannot be blamed for his escape. That you were able to feel compassion for even so degenerate a being is no sign of weakness, Legolas." He waited for the young Elf to nod, albeit reluctantly, before he went on. "So... The creature was tainted by the One. I will have words with Estel and Mithrandir later... They had no right to keep that a secret from us, especially considering that Estel left him _here _and they expected us to mind him!"

"They must have had reasons," Legolas said mildly.

"If they wish to be let off lightly for leaving that creature in my realm without even telling me the nature of the taint he bore, those reasons had better be _very _good." He shook his head. "But that is a matter for another day. Gollum _had _the Ring, you say? What happened? Who has it now?"

For the first time since his arrival, Legolas grinned.

"You will not believe this, _Ada_."

"I am your father. If I can persuade myself to believe that you were not sent to Middle-earth for the express purpose of causing me untold worry in my old age, I can believe _anything_."

"You know the _elvellon _Baggins..."

Thranduil stared.

"No."

"Yes."

"You mean _he_... But... _How?_"

"That is apparently a complicated story. However... Do you remember how puzzled we were that all those Dwarves managed to escape without any of us any the wiser? They are not known for stealth, after all."

"You are not telling me..." Thranduil's eyes hardened suddenly. "Bilbo Baggins used Sauron's Ring in _my _stronghold to help my prisoners escape? _Sauron's _Ring?"

Legolas started; he had not intended that his father should be angry with the Hobbit, for whom he had had considerable affection ever since the latter had decided to make his last stand in defense of the Elven-king at the Battle of the Five Armies.

"_Ada_, he had no idea what it was! How was he to know? Mithrandir knew of the ring Bilbo possessed, and even he did not know that it was the One. He meant no harm, and you must admit it was a convenient way to get rid of the Dwarves."

Thranduil chuckled.

"Convenient? That is not how I would describe it, but go on. Now that the Ring has been identified, what does Elrond plan to do with it?"

"What should have been done three thousand years ago. He is sending it to Orodruin to have it cast into the fires of its making."

The Elven-king nodded. "Good... finally the Noldor are showing some sense! But I do not envy whoever has the task of getting it past Sauron's minions in Mordor. He will be watching. In any case, I doubt any Elf would be safe to carry the Ring... The temptation to use it would be too great. I suspect the same can be said of Men."

Legolas transferred his gaze to the carpet, an action which did not go unnoticed by his father.

"Bilbo offered to bear the burden, but I believe his journeying days have ended now. The task has been entrusted to his kinsman."

Thranduil let out a breath he had not known he was holding.

"It cannot be said that the Halflings lack stoutness of heart. Mayhap Bilbo's kinsman will succeed where an Elf or a Man might have failed. But I hope Elrond is not sending him to Mordor alone." He frowned at the flush those words produced on his son's face. "Legolas?"

"That was actually what I wanted to talk to you about, _Ada_," Legolas mumbled in a small voice.

The Elven-king's face reflected his horror as understanding came to him.

"_Baw_," Thranduil said furiously. "You will do no such thing. I absolutely forbid it, Legolas! You cannot go traipsing into Mordor right under Sauron's eye! You manage to get in enough trouble just staying here."

"_Ada_, I gave Lord Elrond my word."

"I don't know what Elrond was thinking, allowing you to even entertain the idea. Elladan specifically promised me that he would ensure you got in _no _trouble this time, or I would not have let you go."

"Lord Elrond wished to have a representative from among the Elves –"

"And he chose you? With Glorfindel and all the warriors of Imladris at his disposal, he chose _you_?I do not see why you should even get involved, considering that it was the Noldor who helped make those infernal Rings in the first place. You are not going, Legolas. I will have no more discussion on the matter."

Legolas' eyes darkened.

"_Ada_, Estel is going. Would you have me let him go alone?"

Thranduil recognized the determination in his son's voice, but he was in no mood to back down.

"It is too dangerous!"

"I might get killed every time I go on a patrol! How is this any worse?"

"If I had all I wanted, you would not go on any patrols at all! Do you think it pleases me to see my son go into danger everyday? But at least that is necessary for the safety of our people. _This_ entire situation has been brought about by the Noldor and their overweening arrogance, and I will not have you throwing away your life!"

"It is the same Enemy whether in Dol Guldur or in Barad-dûr. You have said so yourself."

"Do not argue with me, Legolas. You are not going, and that is my last word!"

"I am going, _Ada_," Legolas snapped. "Whether you want me to or not."

"Very _well_," Thranduil ground out. "Since you seem determined to do as you please no matter what I think, you have my leave to go. I never thought the day would come when you would disregard both the wishes of your father and the commands of your king."

"_Ada!_" Suddenly Legolas was on his knees before Thranduil's chair, his father's hands clasped tightly in his. "_Ada, saes!_" The young Elf sounded appalled. "I did not mean... You _know _you have my fealty, _Ada_. Do not say..." He shuddered. "I would never –"

Thranduil felt his anger dissipating at the sight of Legolas' bowed head.

"_Sîdh_," he said hoarsely, bringing his son's hands up to his face and kissing them lightly. "Say no more, _tithen las_. I did not intend to suggest that I doubted your loyalty. I could trust nobody if I could not trust you." He looked into Legolas' blue eyes. "I am sorry, _ion nîn_. Can you forgive a doting father who is terrified at the thought of losing what he holds most dear in all the world?"

Without a word, Legolas reached up to hug his father. Thranduil held his son close, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill.

"Legolas, you must understand. When your mother died you were all that anchored me to this world. I do not know if all fathers feel such a combination of pride and terror when their sons go to battle... I could not survive if I lost you, _tithen pen_."

"I must do this, _Ada_. How long can we stand against the might of Dol Guldur if Sauron regains his Ring? This may be the only way to bring lasting peace to Eryn Galen."

"I know, _penneth_. I know this is right, and I know you must do this. But my heart cannot accept it. To think of you facing the Valar know what evil in the shadowed lands to the south, while I sit here wondering and worrying and unable to separate fact from rumour... Promise me you will take care of yourself, _tithen pen_."

"I promise I will be careful, _Ada_. I will return to you."

Thranduil smiled.

"Come, then." He got to his feet, drawing his son with him. "I imagine Galion has laid dinner by now. You will be leaving in a few days, and it may be months before I see you again. Tomorrow I will have to see Elrond's scouts. Let us make the most of the time we have."

* * *

Hours later, Thranduil, unable to find rest, slipped into his son's bedroom. Legolas' eyes were wide open, reflecting the light of the stars that shone through the open window as he wandered in Elven dreams.

Thranduil pulled Legolas' blanket closer around him, although there was no need, poked at the fire, which was blazing perfectly well without his intervention, attempted to draw the drapes wider, despite the fact that they had already been pulled all the way back, and finally settled down in a comfortable chair by the bed. The Elven-king's eyes glazed over as sleep came for him at last.

* * *

**Sindarin Translations**

_Aran nîn_ – My King

_Elen síla lumenn' omentielvo. _– A star shines on the hour of our meeting.

_Elvellon –_ Elf-friend

_Ada_ – Father

_Ion n__î__n_ – My son

_Penneth_ – Young one

_S__î__dh_ – Peace

_Baw_ – No

_Saes_ – Please

_Tithen las_ – Little leaf

* * *

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	2. What Dawn May Bring

**Summary:** Shortly after being appointed commander of his father's archers, Legolas has to face the fact that no Elf can be perfect.

**Author's Note: **This story is set immediately after _Warriors _and _Celebration_, although you needn't have read either of those to understand this. It placed second in the Teitho prompt "Excuses".

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Calenlass, for advice, suggestions, and patience with questions.

**Disclaimer:** All of this belongs to the Professor.

**Rating: **PG

* * *

**What Dawn May Bring**

**Part I**

**Legolas**

I can hear nothing than my blood pounding in my ears, not even the cries of the injured and the triumphant shouting of the Orcs.

We are overrun.

Even as I cut and slash wildly in one last, desperate attempt to hold them off until the wounded can be carried across the river, I know I have lost.

I have lost. Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Eryn Galen, has lost both land and Elven lives to Sauron's foul creatures. I cannot believe that I should have failed so spectacularly, so soon after taking over command of the archers.

"Legolas!" Eredhion's voice shouting for me penetrates the fog around my senses. "Legolas, the others are safe – they are across. We have to get back!"

I glance around to make certain all the Elves have crossed the river, the moment's inattention costing me a knife-cut to my ribs. Eredhion materializes at my side, seemingly from nowhere, and seizes my arm.

"For the love of Elbereth, Legolas! The others are safe! There is no more we can do here. You have to come."

We leap up into the beech overhead, which lowers its branches helpfully. In seconds we have made our way from tree to tree to the other side of the Forest River, finishing in the limbs of a sturdy oak that offers both support and comfort as we make our way down to the ground.

That is when I finally see the full extent of the damage the Orcs have done – the damage _I_ have done.

Of the twenty warriors who set out with me fewer than a dozen remain, most of them injured. Only Rochendilwen and Saeldur have escaped relatively unscathed; they are busy binding cuts and splinting bones. It is only the barest of battlefield medication, but it will last until we return to the stronghold.

I shudder at the thought of having to face the King's Council now. Even those who have always supported my father will be appalled by my terrible judgement in this battle; those who have long considered the Sindar unwanted interlopers in Greenwood the Great will now have more fuel for their arguments. I can hear the whispers already, whispers of how I have inherited the prideful arrogance that led my _daeradar_ to disaster so many centuries ago.

Because, of course, it _was_ my arrogance that caused this. Thorontur would have retreated. I know that perfectly well. I knew that when the Orcs were first sighted.

But Thorontur told me, the night before I took over his responsibilities as commander of the Colhador, that I should not try to be exactly like him, that I should take my own decisions instead of perpetually asking myself what he would have done.

I wonder what he will say now.

I am vaguely aware of someone undoing my cloak.

"I'm fine," I say automatically.

"Don't be ridiculous," Saeldur snaps. "The last thing we need is for you to collapse from blood loss before we return to the stronghold. The healers will be none too pleased with you… Barancrist has warned you about your tendency to let your guard down at inopportune moments."

Barancrist? At the moment I am more worried about what _Ada_ will say.

* * *

**Part II**

**Thranduil**

My son. My poor, poor son.

The trees and the birds have already told us the outcome of the battle, and they were as concerned about your failing spirits as they were about the Orcs encroaching further into our territory.

This is why I feared you were too young for the duties of a captain. I did not doubt your skill or your ability to lead, but I knew that you had not yet learnt to accept the losses that are as much a part of leading troops in battle as the victories. My son, did you think you would be able to fight spiders and Orcs without having to cede a single inch of ground, without losing even one warrior?

Did you think I would be unreasonable enough to expect that of you?

Perhaps it was a foolish mistake, Legolas; if my information is accurate, there was no way you could have won. You should have retreated at once.

But who is to say that the outcome would have been better if you had retreated? If you had given in without a fight the Orcs might have been emboldened to cross the river; they might have wrought even greater destruction. You and your archers halved their numbers before you yielded.

I am waiting for you in the Council chamber; I wish I were anywhere but here. In the privacy of the royal quarters I could have comforted you, as a father ought to do; now, with half the court watching, I must forget I am a father and be the Elven-king.

One of the pages comes in to announce you; the room, which has been buzzing with conversation, suddenly falls deadly silent. The door swings open and you enter. Eredhion and Voronwë are right behind you, but they wait at the door, standing on either side of it like sentinels, while you make your uncomfortable way to the centre of the room. I am slightly amused; apparently the Prince's guards suspect some danger to their charge even in the most secure part of my stronghold.

I note a faint bulge under your tunic that suggests bandages, but before I can enquire you incline your head in greeting.

"My king."

"Legolas."

I hesitate, unsure of what to say next; before I can speak, Norgalad says, "We know what happened, Legolas."

His tone is cold, which does not surprise me; Norgalad was not fond of my father, he is not fond of me, and there are times when I suspect he positively hates my son. But he is a good Councillor, for all that, one who usually manages to subdue his personal feelings in the interests of the realm.

I force myself not to intervene; that will damage both my reputation and your standing among your fellow-warriors.

"Yes, my lord," you mumble, the colour rising in your cheeks.

"How could you make such an abysmal error of judgement?"

I catch a sudden movement out of the corner of my eye, and stop Thorontur with a glance before he can say anything. If you are responsible enough to command the archers, you are old enough to fend for yourself in my Council chamber.

"I… I thought we could hold out," you say, your voice trembling a little. "There were more Orcs than we anticipated, and I did not expect them to be as disciplined and well-trained as they were."

Thorontur's eyes narrow; he has taken note of that statement. You have been a warrior long enough to know how much discipline to expect from Orcs. I expect he and Arbellason will want more details after the Council.

But Norgalad is watching me. I know what he expects me to say. Normally it would be Arbellason's place to handle this, or Thorontur's, but since it is clear that neither of them has any intention of abandoning his doting uncle role to ask you difficult questions, that unpleasant duty falls to me.

I hope you will be able to forgive me.

"Is that an excuse, Legolas?" I ask evenly.

"No, my king," you falter, not quite meeting my gaze. "It was a mistake, and it was the reason we lost."

"Did you have any misgivings about your decision to hold your position?"

Your eyes flicker fleetingly to my left before they return to mine, this time meeting them squarely. "I knew… I knew Lord Thorontur would not have done it."

"You made a decision that you knew Thorontur would not have made?" Norgalad demands incredulously.

Your flush deepens; this time I am not quick enough to stop Thorontur from speaking.

Perhaps he would have ignored me in any case.

"If I had wanted the leader of the archers to do exactly what I would have done at all times, I would never have resigned the command," he snaps furiously. "Discuss the wisdom of his decision by all means, Norgalad, but do not berate him for not being me!"

Norgalad looks stunned, but that is no more than you do. You were clearly expecting to find the Council united in disapproval.

You forget, my foolish son, that most of us were captains before we gave up our military duties to attend to the administration of the realm. We have a duty to ensure that nobody who holds a command is unfit for the role, but we know that even the best of captains can lose to a strong enough enemy.

"As you wish," Norgalad says coolly, recovering himself somewhat. "Legolas, why did you not retreat?"

"I believed we could win, my lord."

"Why?" I ask.

You look at me, startled. Of course I know the answer to that question. You believed you could win because you believe in yourself and in your comrades, because you have a measure of courage that fills me with pride and terror at the same time, and, more than anything, because those who taught you to fight also taught you never to give up.

"I… I do not know, _aran nîn_," you say slowly. "It… I was wrong to believe so."

Unspoken is the promise that you will not do it again, and _that_ is the last thing I want to hear from you. Had I wanted a commander who would retreat across the river at every opportunity I would have appointed Norgalad. You must learn from your mistake, but I do not want you crippled by it.

I glance at Thorontur and Arbellason to receive confirmatory nods for what I am about to do next.

"Have you spoken to the families of the fallen?" I ask, a signal that the topic has been closed.

You nod; I do not doubt that you carried out that duty before you even took yourself to the healers.

"Very well, then. There have been reports of Orcs and Wargs, and possibly spiders, massing to the south-east. I want you to select forty of your archers to deal with them. They will leave at dawn tomorrow. You will lead them."

Now Eredhion and Voronwë are frowning at me; they think you deserve some time to yourself. They may be right, but I dare not give you time to brood. If you are not seriously injured, it will be best for you to go straight back to the battlefield.

I hope you will understand one day.

* * *

**Part III**

**Legolas**

_Ada_ is not here.

I had hoped to speak to him, to tell him I am sorry for having let him down. But there is not time; already the eastern sky is lightening. We cannot linger.

I am in the courtyard with the other warriors, waiting while the horses are led out of the stable. Faelwen gives me an enthusiastic greeting – I have not visited her for some time, I realize with a guilty start – and nuzzles my ear.

I glance at the entrance to the palace. Normally _Ada_ would be standing there to see me off.

I wanted to talk to him last night, but he was in Council for most of the evening, and then _I_ was busy getting the archers together, studying maps and making preparations. By the time I returned to my room, Ithil was close to setting; although I could see light shining under _Ada's_ door I was too weary to do anything but get what rest I could.

I feel a sudden chill. I do not like the thought of parting from him like this.

"Legolas." I hear the voice behind me and whirl, hoping it is _Ada_, barely managing to conceal my disappointment that it is Thorontur. He smiles wryly, as though he knows what I am thinking. "Come here."

He draws me away from the others, into the shadows.

"Legolas, are you scared?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Good. A little fear will go a long way towards tempering your recklessness." He pauses. "But do not let it temper your courage, _penneth_. Remember, _you_ command the archers now. You must make your decisions wisely, but they must be _your_ decisions. Not what your father would have done or what I would have done, but what you think is best."

"But what if I choose wrongly, as I did yesterday? Would it not have been better to do as I believed you would have done?"

"Legolas, why did I ask your father to appoint you commander of the Colhador in my stead?"

"Because you were weary of battle and –"

"That is why I wished to step down. Why did I ask for _you_ to take my place?"

"I… I do not know, _hîr nîn_."

He nods. "It is not because you are a fine archer, although you are. Nor is it because you are the son of the King. I did it because I trust your judgement, your spirit, and your courage. What you just said – that you should choose as I would lest your choices turn out imperfect – is just an excuse not to make your own decisions."

I fidget uncomfortably; it seems I can do nothing right this season. "My lord, you would not have tried to hold out yesterday."

Thorontur smiles. "No. I _could _not have tried to hold out." I stare at him foolishly and he laughs. "It would have been against my nature; but the important thing is what is against _your_ nature. I trust you, Legolas. Your father trusts you. You must trust yourself." He clasps my forearm briefly. "Now go. It is time."

I turn back to Faelwen and mount. She rears in excitement; had I not been expecting it, I would have been thrown off. As she sets off towards the gates at a brisk trot, I turn for one last look at the stronghold.

I wish _Ada_ had come.

* * *

**Part IV**

**Thranduil**

Where are you, Legolas?

It has been three days – three _days_ – and we have had no word. Even the trees are unusually reticent about what is happening. I am becoming increasingly irritable; my Councillors are all treading warily as though fearing that I am waiting for an excuse to vent my frustration at this lack of information.

They are not entirely unjustified in their concern.

_Ai_, _ion nîn_, I suddenly longer care about the outcomes of battles or the ruling of a kingdom. All I want is to know that you are safe.

It appears that when you are here my duty as King prevents me from being a good father, and when you are not here my worry for you prevents me from being a good King. I do not know how _Ada_ managed as well as he did.

I do not even know if you realize that it was affairs of state that kept me from coming to see you off. You have spent so little time at home these past days that I do not believe you are aware that there are Men in the stronghold, much less that they and I spent most of the night before your departure, and the following day, dealing with their clamouring for more favourable trade terms.

Indeed, I was closeted with them in the library and so I did not even realize it was dawn until Istuion came in with a draft agreement and a mild admonition not to abandon my responsibility as a father.

But by the time I got to the courtyard, it was too late.

I cannot imagine what Lindariel would say if she knew that after the events of that day, I let you leave without a word of comfort or consolation. She would probably bully Námo into releasing her from his Halls long enough to come and kill me.

As soon as the spring thaw opens the High Pass, Legolas, and whether or not you want it, you are going to Imladris for the summer.

* * *

**Part V**

**Legolas**

This situation is uncannily familiar, except that there is no river.

It took us well over two days to reach the place where the Orcs and Wargs are camping, very close to our southern border, and when we arrived we spent the first few minutes gaping in astonishment and shock. Either the scouts grossly underestimated the numbers that were gathering, or more have arrived since they made their report.

Fortunately there are no spiders.

Yet.

But now I do not know what to do. It would be prudent, especially given what happened last time, to go straight back to the stronghold. But if I do that, more of them may come, enough to give a fight to whatever force is sent to deal with them.

If I do that, they will almost certainly cross our southern border, and even more of our home will be tainted by their foulness.

The warriors are watching me expectantly, and I am even more uncertain. Do they want to follow my orders now, or are they doing it because they must? Can I even expect them to obey me any more?

"What do you think?" I murmur to Aeroniel, who is beside me.

"I think you are the commander of the archers," my second says calmly. "I think that whatever you decide, we will follow you. And I think you do us an injustice if you suggest that we should do otherwise."

I hesitate. Thorontur would pull back. The advantage is not with us. We are vastly outnumbered.

_Outnumbered, Elfling?_ The thought brushes my mind, and I glance up in surprise. The tree is quivering with something suspiciously like anger. _Outnumbered? What are we, stones?_

I reach out to brush the bark; the tree responds warmly and I realize its anger was not directed towards me.

_What do _you_ think?_

_Were you not listening to the _elleth_? We think you are the commander of the archers. Whatever you decide, we are with you as well._

I have to smile. I do not doubt that the trees can be formidable foes if they choose.

But Thorontur would pull back.

Suddenly, the leader of the Orcs turns his head and looks straight in my direction. He cannot see me; I am well hidden by the foliage. I can see him, though. His eyes are cruel, his teeth bared in a vicious grimace.

I know then that I cannot turn back. I cannot allow the evil of the Necromancer to taint the forest any more than it has done already, not while I have the strength to wield my bow. I cannot cede one more inch of my home to his minions.

I cannot leave.

"I will not order anybody to stay," I say, in a voice just loud enough to reach all the Elves behind me. "It is madness to try to stop them with our numbers. Anyone who will may return to the stronghold, appraise the King of our situation and return with reinforcements." I turn back to them, unable to suppress a grin. "Nobody will hold it against you; you will probably be admired for showing good sense." I reach for my bow. "But madness or not, I am not letting those foul creatures cross our borders. Stand with me if you will."

It does not take the soft sound of bowstrings being tested and arrows drawn to tell me that they have chosen to stand with me.

I sense the trees tensing as well. I wonder what they plan to do.

* * *

**Part VI**

**Thranduil**

I wish I could have been waiting in the courtyard to welcome you home, Legolas. Unfortunately, those forsaken mortals are still here, and I am sitting in Council listening to them argue with Istuion about trade terms and wine qualities.

The members of my Council have clearly noted my distraction and glances in the direction of the door; it is fortunate that the delegates have not.

It is fortunate that protocol dictates that you should present yourself in the Council chamber at once, _ion n__î__n_; I cannot sit through hours of negotiations without seeing for myself that you are safe and that whatever injuries you have taken will heal eventually.

Thorontur and Arbellason exchange fleeting smiles when a page slips into the room and announces, "Prince Legolas, _aran n__î__n_."

"Send him in," I say.

The men exchange curious glances – so far, the only Elf permitted to interrupt today's meeting was Mîr-megil with urgent news from scouts at the eastern border – but say nothing.

You enter, and it is evident that you have not yet been to the healers... The cloth wrapped around your wrist was clearly torn from a spare tunic. But since it seems that you have taken no serious injury, I will not berate you over that.

The men are watching you with considerable interest. It is probably the first time they have seen a battle-ready Elven warrior. I must admit you look formidable, still carrying your weapons. I know _I_ would not want to be at the wrong end of one of your arrows. Ellaurë catches my eye and smiles, and I know she is thinking the same thing.

But I have seen your eyes, _penneth_, and there is something in them that worries me. Surely you cannot still be brooding over the battle at the river? You have just won a victory that will be remembered for years, and managed it, so I am told, without loss of life.

Ah, but you are brooding, Legolas. I can see it as you bow formally.

"My King."

I hesitate, wondering what to say, and wishing that the presence of the Men did not make it doubly necessary to maintain decorum. Norgalad is the first to break the silence.

"We know what happened, Legolas."

Your voice when you reply has an odd suppressed note.

"We were fortunate, my lord. The odds were in our favour and –"

"Did you make excuses for your defeat, Legolas?"

The question startles everyone except Istuion, who smiles to himself as though he was expecting it.

"No, my lord, but –"

"Then do not make excuses for your victory, my prince."

There is the faintest sign of mirth in your eyes as you bow your head in acknowledgement of his remark. Perhaps I have misjudged Norgalad.

I look at you and suddenly I remember standing before my father's Council as you are standing before mine.

I cannot resist.

"You must be tired, Legolas. Go and get some rest." You nod, but before you can move I add, "You can join us after lunch. I would value your opinion before I conclude the negotiations."

You school your expression to acquiescence, but not quickly enough to prevent me from seeing the horror on your face. Most of the Elves in the room have seen it as well, judging by the fleeting smiles and quickly-suppressed chuckles. It is no secret that you have not even _looked_ at a trade agreement for years.

You bow again and turn to go. At the door you pause for the briefest of moments, turning to meet my eyes with your lips curving upwards in the hint of a smile. I smile back, in that short instant as neither woodland King nor Sindarin lord, but proud – and normally petrified – father to a recklessly brave young warrior.

Then I return my attention to the leader of the delegates, who appears to thinks he can take advantage of my improved mood to charge twice what his goods are worth.

He is about to find out that scions of the House of Oropher are formidable in more than just battle.

* * *

**Sindarin Translations**

_Daeradar_ – Grandfather

_Aran n__î__n_ – My King

_Ada –_ Dad/Daddy

_Penneth_ – Young one

_H__î__r n__î__n_ – My Lord

_Ion n__î__n_ – My son

* * *

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	3. Spring

**Summary:** The change of seasons brings a new arrival to Thranduil's halls.

Thanks to Silivren Tinu, KyMahalei and awaylaughingonafastcamel for reviewing "What Dawn May Bring". *g*

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Calenlass, for advice, suggestions, and patience with questions.

**Disclaimer:** Tolkien owns everything.

**Rating:** PG

* * *

**Spring**

"He has arrived, Thranduil. Do you want to meet him?"

The Elven-king balked as wildly as though he were being asked to make friends with an Orc.

"No…" he stammered, backing away. "No, really, I do not believe that is a good idea. I would not know what to do or say. I might do something terrible, and then for the next five centuries every Elf of Middle-earth would be laughing about the clumsy oaf who rules the Woodland Realm. You handle it."

He turned to go, but found his way barred by the twin sons of Elrond, who were standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the doorway.

"You cannot run away, my lord," Elrohir said, a merry twinkle in his eye. "He is waiting for you."

"Moreover, Elladan, Elrohir, and I did not come all the way from Imladris to see this meeting only to have you flee cravenly when the moment came," Glorfindel put in. "Come, Thranduil, this should be a happy time for us all. We are here on this day as a sign of the peace and friendship that should henceforth mark relations between your realm and Imladris. Now come greet our new _friend_ and keep that peace!"

"You need not fear, my lord," Elladan soothed. "_He_ will know what to do."

* * *

_Some Months Ago_

"Are you sure this is wise?" Thranduil said to nobody in particular. His eyes flitted from his wife, sitting in the shade of an elm, to the twilit sky overhead.

"Wise or not, there is nothing we can do about it now, _meleth nîn_," Lindariel replied. One hand strayed to the slight bulge that was just beginning to show below her gown. "We are going to have a child."

"How did I let you talk me into this?" Thranduil groaned, burying his head in his hands. "What world is this to raise a child in?"

"It is a happy world at the moment."

"For how long?" The Elven-king waved his hands in a gesture that seemed to indicate most of Middle-earth. "Gil-galad is dead, and should war come again – as I know it will, and as you know it will – there is none to call upon the Elves to unite –"

"Yes, Thranduil, but you and Elrond are on better terms than your father and Gil-galad were. I know you are far from the best of friends," she added hastily. "But at least there is respect between you, and kinship since he wed Celebrían. If it comes to the worst, I do not doubt that you will be able to bury your differences and act together. _He_ has raised three children, has he not?"

"He is safe in Imladris with his Noldorin magic. We are exposed here, unprotected, with nothing to defend us save the strength of our arms."

"All the more reason for you to look forward to the arrival of your child," the Elven-queen said with a light laugh. "Have you forgotten how your presence used to cheer your father when he was worried or afraid?"

"But… it will be hard on the child." Thranduil shuddered. "If it is male… Imagine, _meleth_, if it is male and if the peace for which my father died does not last as long as I hope, our son will be called to battle whether we wish it or not, whether _he_ likes it or not, simply because he is our son. How will he ever be able to think of me with affection?"

"Really, Thranduil!" Lindariel said in exasperation. "Did _you_ ever resent your father for the duties that you had to perform?"

"No, but –"

"Thranduil." She reached over and took his hands. "We are going to have a child. Whether or not you think this is the right time, it is coming. And you will be fine. I know you. You will be a wonderful father."

Her husband only shook his head.

"How did I _ever_ let you talk me into this?"

* * *

"Come, Thranduil," Glorfindel repeated patiently. "Your son is waiting."

Thranduil sidled away.

"What if I do something to upset him? I have never been very good with Elflings. When I went to visit Thorontur and Celebwen after Feredir was born, the child took one look at me and began to bawl."

"Thranduil, all babies cry," the Balrog-slayer said, gesturing discreetly to the sons of Elrond to leave the room.

"What if he does not like me?"

Glorfindel waited for the door to close behind Elladan and Elrohir before he answered.

"Of course he will like you. If, that is, he ever gets a chance to _see_ you. Now stop being foolish. Come and meet your son. Have you thought of a name for him?"

"Lindariel has thought of one… Perhaps you should go first, Glorfindel. After all, you have helped Elrond and Celebrían raise three children, and they all seem fond of you. No doubt you know how to win an Elfling's favour. If you were to go first, you might be able to prepare him –"

"Sweet Elbereth, Thranduil, he is not an emissary from Círdan! He is a newborn Elfling and you are his father. Now _come_."

With that, Glorfindel practically pushed Thranduil through the door.

* * *

_Some Months Ago_

Thranduil got to his feet and cleared his throat. At once, the huge dining hall fell silent, every Elf turning to look at him as he stood before them nervously.

"_Mellyn nîn_… I had hoped to wait before making this announcement, but Thorontur insists that since you are all depressed because of the onset of winter, this is the best time. We – that is, Queen Lindariel and I – have glad tidings. We are…" He trailed off and flushed furiously, looking at his wife for help. When she only smiled at him, he went on, "We are expecting our first child in the spring."

Nothing could have prepared him for the excitement that greeted his news; only their closest friends had already been told, so the rest of the Councillors were are stunned as everybody else. As soon as they overcame their initial surprise, they crowded around Thranduil and Lindariel with glad exclamations.

Thorontur, commander of the archers, leaned over to Thranduil to say, in a voice barely audible above the congratulations and offers of help, "I _told_ you it would please them."

"If they greet the child like this, it will be terrified," Arbellason, commander of the army, added from his other side.

"The two of you are _not_ helping!"

* * *

Thorontur and Arbellason were waiting in the antechamber outside the bedroom, whence they had evicted Thranduil because his nervous pacing and perpetual enquiries about what was happening within had been distracting the midwife and healers. As soon as he appeared in the doorway, they sprang up to greet him.

"_Mellon nîn_," Thorontur murmured, hugging his friend, "We are told he is strong and healthy."

"You have not seen him yet?" Thranduil asked as Thorontur stepped back and Arbellason put an arm around his shoulders to lead him to the bedroom.

"Of course not," Arbellason said. "How could we see your son before you did? Come."

Not even before a battle had Thranduil felt as terrified as he did when he entered the room. He barely had time for a glance at Lindariel, who gave him an encouraging smile, before Glorfindel pushed him into a chair, he was ordered to hold out his hands, and then there was a warm weight in his arms.

Thranduil looked at his son for the first time.

The baby's eyes were closed. What hair he had was golden, and his determined chin and firm mouth reminded Thranduil strongly of his own father.

"He is going to look like you," Thorontur murmured.

Fearful of waking the baby, Thranduil only nodded, but he could not resist tracing one tiny ear with a trembling finger. A soft step made him look up; Elladan and Elrohir had just entered.

"Forgive us for disturbing you, my king, my queen," Elladan said apologetically. "We will leave you to your privacy, but we could not wait to see Greenwood's new prince."

Silently, the two young Elves came up to Thranduil.

"Do you think he will be our friend?" Elrohir whispered, bending over the bundle in the Elven-king's arms.

"I am certain he will," Glorfindel responded, sounding amused at the question. "But you can make friends with him tomorrow. It is time we left."

The midwife and healers, pausing only to congratulate their king, exited the room immediately after the Imladrin Elves. Thorontur looked up from his admiration of the baby to ask Lindariel, who had let herself sink into her pillows with a soft sigh, "Are you tired?"

"Very," she said. "But it is worth it."

"It is that, my queen," he agreed. "And now that we have seen your heir, Thranduil, we will leave you. Arbellason will make the announcement, so you can spend as long as you wish persuading your son to like you."

Thranduil barely noticed their departure, so entranced was he by the Elfling. He got to his feet carefully and crossed the few yards to the bed where Lindariel lay, watching him with mingled affection and exasperation.

"He will not break, Thranduil," she told him as he seated himself on the edge of the bed. "You need not be so fearful."

Just then the baby opened his eyes and looked at his father.

"_Mae govannen, tithen pen_," Thranduil murmured. "_Guren linna le cened._"

The Elfling screwed up his mouth as though he was about to cry; Thranduil, alarmed, rocked him soothingly. A tiny hand reached up and grabbed at one of the Elven-king's warrior braids.

Thranduil felt a sharp tug on the braid and winced.

"Perhaps you should find something else to play with, _ion nîn_." About to remove his hair from his son's fist, he was stopped by something in the eyes that looked trustingly into his. "Oh, very well, hold the braid if it makes you happy. Just be gentle." The baby gurgled. "Do you think he understands?"

"I am sure he does," Lindariel said.

Thranduil looked at her.

"Thank you," he said softly. "I still do not know how you talked me into it, but thank the Valar that you did."

"I take it you have no more misgivings, _meleth nîn_?"

"No." Thranduil held the baby close, pressing a kiss to his head. "Whatever may come, Lindariel, nothing will take our son's happiness from him. I will not allow it." He shifted the baby so that he could support him with one arm, reaching for his wife with the other. "What do you want to call him?"

Lindariel waved in the direction of the window, through which the sounds and smells of spring poured into the room.

"Legolas," she said. "In honour of the new leaves that welcome him to Arda."

"Legolas," Thranduil repeated. "It is a beautiful name, my love… A perfect name for the heir to the woodland throne." He looked down at his son again. "Welcome to the world, my little Greenleaf." He patted the baby's hand, smiling when his braid was released and his finger clasped instead. "I only hope I will be able to give you half the joy your arrival gave me."

* * *

**Sindarin Translations**

_Meleth n__î__n_ – My love

_Mellon _(plural _mellyn_) _n__î__n_ – My friends

_Mae govannen, tithen pen._ – Well met, little one.

_Guren linna le cened. _– My heart sings to see you.

_Ion n__î__n_ – My son

* * *

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review.


	4. Where Battle Ends

**Summary:** Unfortunate things can be said in the heat of the moment, and battles can lead to terrible losses.

Thanks to Macheil, Seagent Pepper, Gwenhyfer Cushion, Silivren Tinu, Eressie, Muse10 and Phantom Muse for reviewing "Spring".

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Calenlass, for her work on this. *hugs*

**Diclaimer:** Tolkien owns everything.

* * *

**Where Battle Ends**

**September 1, Morning**

"We are doing all we possibly can," Thranduil ground out. "The warriors are on duty day and night. We have doubled the guard on the Elf-path and the southern border. I cannot ask more of them than this. I cannot imagine what you want me to do."

"How am I to know what you should do?" Norgalad snapped. "I have never claimed to be a warrior. Lord Arbellason is commander of the army. Perhaps _he_ has a suggestion."

Arbellason did not rise to the bait. "Yes," he said, far more calmly than Thranduil could have managed. "As commander of the army, Lord Norgalad, I _do_ have a suggestion and it is this: _we_ must be more careful. Thranduil is right. The warriors are stretched to their limits."

"Are we to be kept penned in like beasts at the pleasure of the Orcs?"

"We know how you feel, Norgalad," Thorontur said, before Thranduil or Arbellason could react. "There is nobody who does not grieve to see Greenwood the Great fall into shadow. We are doing all we can, and at least here, where we dwell, there is a measure of safety."

"I do not want safety at the expense of cowering here like a frightened animal! We can all remember a time when Elves walked the length and breadth of this forest."

Thranduil sighed.

"What would you have me do?"

* * *

**September 19, Afternoon**

Legolas struggled to his feet. The noise was deafening. All around him was battle, the clash of swords, screams, shouting. His arm felt like it was on fire, but although the cut was long, it was not incapacitating.

"We have to fall back," Saeldur said desperately. "We cannot win this, Legolas."

For a moment the word 'no' trembled on the Elf-prince's lips – he could not bear the thought of returning to the stronghold without carrying out his orders. He could not face his father's disappointment. But he knew Saeldur was right. They were impossibly outnumbered. The fight had been raging for so long that even the Elves were growing weary, and the Orcs were still pouring from their secret dens in an endless flood.

"Give the order," he said tersely.

Just then he heard another voice, raised above the din.

"Legolas, they have taken Candnaur."

Legolas was just in time to seize Saeldur's arm before he could throw himself at the nearest Orcs in a mad frenzy.

* * *

**September 1, Afternoon**

Candnaur looked so plaintive that Legolas was almost tempted to accede to his request. But he knew that they would have trouble enough without taking on additional problems. Candnaur was no warrior. After a short-lived attempt to learn to be a healer, he had discovered an innate talent for diplomacy and was now one of Norgalad's most indispensable aides. As far as Legolas knew, he had never touched a weapon that did not belong to his father or brother, and had certainly never been in a battle.

"You cannot come," Legolas said patiently.

"But Saeldur is going with you," Candnaur said, for what seemed like the hundredth time. "He is my brother, Legolas. My baby brother. And you said yourself that this is dangerous! I want to be there to take care of him."

"He is capable of taking care of himself," Legolas pointed out. "I understand how you feel, but you must be reasonable. Saeldur and I have ridden together for centuries. I promise you he is capable of taking care of himself. Your presence will only distract him."

"I have been training, Legolas. I will not get in the way."

"I do not understand. All this time you have expressed no inclination to run into battle after Saeldur. Why now? My father will have greater need of you in court than I will have on the battlefield."

"Legolas, my mother has just lost both her brothers to the Shadow. I cannot see her lose a son as well. Will you at least tell Saeldur to stay here?"

"I spoke to him. He does not want to stay here."

"You are his commander. You can order him to stay."

Saeldur, who had entered the room in time to hear his brother's last remark, bristled indignantly.

"Nobody is going to order me to stay anywhere! Legolas, I am telling you now, I will disobey you and face a charge of treason if I must, but I am not going to let you go into this alone. I am a warrior, and I would be ashamed to stay cowering here while my friends risked their lives."

"_Sîdh_," Legolas said sharply, seeing that Saeldur, who was more upset by his uncles' loss than he revealed, was about to say something regrettable. "I have told you that it is your decision, to come or to stay – and you know that nobody will hold it against you if you choose to stay. There is still time. You can change your mind if you want. Candnaur is right. Your mother may need your support."

"Are you trying to make me stay?" Saeldur demanded furiously.

Legolas sighed. It had been a very difficult day for him, and his patience was wearing thin.

"I said it was _your_ decision."

* * *

**September 19, Afternoon**

The attempt to rescue Candnaur was decisive – and short. There had never been any hope, Legolas knew with bleak realization, but the attempt had been made. The attempt had to be made. He could not fault his warriors. They had fought far more fiercely with an Elven life at stake than when it had merely been a question of recovering a few acres of ground. But the Orcs had been clever, for once, a dozen of them retreating with their captive as quickly as they could while the rest kept the Elves engaged.

"Into the trees," Legolas ordered, as soon as he realized what was happening. "Follow them – hurry!"

The warriors leapt up into the branches at once, the trees, weaker though their spirits were in this Shadow-infested part of the forest, helping them as best they could. They made haste, but the Orcs were too numerous, managing to delay them with crossbow bolts and hurled swords.

Meanwhile the Orcs bearing Candnaur were getting further and further away.

"It is no use!" Aeroniel called to him. "There are too many – we will never catch them. Legolas..."

She stopped, and Legolas, who knew what she intended to say, shook his head wildly. He had had to make difficult decisions as commander of the Colhador, but _this_ he could not do. He could not give the order to shoot the brother of one of his closest friends.

Aeroniel, taking the decision out of his hands, raised her own bow.

Then she lowered it.

"I cannot do it," she gasped. "It is too far – I might make it more painful for him than anything the Orcs could do... Legolas, you are the only one of us who can do this."

Legolas stared at her, too horrified to move. He could not –

"Legolas," Saeldur whispered beside him. "_Please._"

Heart thudding so violently that he was surprised it was not making his hands shake, Legolas drew his bow, sighted along the length of the arrow, and, in a moment of absolute silence, released.

* * *

**September 1, Morning**

"I would never have believed it of you!" Thranduil snapped. "I thought that _you_, at least, would not make it any harder for me. Why is it so difficult for you to follow simple orders?"

"_Ada, _please," Legolas begged. "I did not mean – if you will only give me some time, I can do something. I cannot muster more than two dozen archers if you want us to set out tomorrow morning, and we will never win with just that many."

"If you tell me that my finest archers are no match for a rabble of Mordor-spawn –"

"You know how they outnumber us! At least let me take the archers off patrol duty. We may be able to make up sufficient numbers then."

"Do not be absurd. We need the patrols. We cannot have Elves being assaulted in supposedly safe areas."

"It will only be until the warriors who have gone with Rochendilwen return. That will be in three days, four at most, and there will be no trouble until then if you persuade everyone to stay within the stronghold except in case of dire need –"

"I am no tyrant, to imprison my subjects within my walls."

Legolas started.

"_Ada_... Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," Thranduil said brusquely. "Except that my son is showing an intolerable inclination towards disobedience."

Legolas knew his father too well to be sidetracked.

"If somebody has said something to you –"

"_If_ somebody has said something to me," Thranduil barked, suddenly angry, "it is no business of yours. All I expect of you is to do as I tell you without making a childish fuss. I do not know if you are suddenly frightened –"

"_Ada!_"

"Or something worse," Thranduil went on, unperturbed. "To disobey your king in a matter relating to the safety of the realm is normally called by names less pleasant than cowardice."

"_Ada_, please, do not – I will go if you want, but I cannot ask anyone else to do this. Please. If you will give me even a day –"

"Tomorrow morning, Legolas," the Elven-king snapped. "I want you out of the stronghold tomorrow morning. And I do not want to see you again until you have something to tell me other than how unreasonable I am being. Now go."

"But –"

"Do you want me to call the guards and have you escorted out?"

Legolas went.

* * *

**September 19, Afternoon**

The arrow flew true, whistling through branches and past Orcs to land –

Legolas turned away. He could not look. He felt Saeldur shaking, and wrapped one arm around his friend.

"He died bravely," he murmured, struggling to keep his voice steady. "You will have your vengeance, _mellon nîn_. I promise you that."

"But not now," Saeldur said, half-sobbing.

"_Now_ you could only get yourself killed as well. Come."

The Orcs did not bother them as much on their way back, for which Legolas was grateful. Saeldur was moving numbly, mechanically, and he knew he could not defend his friend as well as himself if it came to serious battle. As it was, he hustled Saeldur through the branches that bent to receive them, aware of the others retreating as well.

And then they were on safe ground, and Aeroniel was organizing scouts and watches while Legolas gave orders for the setting up of a few hasty, makeshift _talans_, and Saeldur sat unaware, uncaring, the only sign of life the vice-like grip he had on Legolas' hand.

As soon as he was finished, Legolas turned to his friend.

"I am sorry." He pulled Saeldur into a hug, wishing there were some comfort he could offer. His earlier worry about facing Thranduil seemed trivial; he would willingly present himself for a scolding before the king's council if that could reverse what had happened. "We will be home soon."

"I should have stayed, as he wanted me to," Saeldur choked. "Then he would not –"

"No!" Legolas said sharply, making the word an order. "You know that only sorrow comes of such thoughts. What happened was nobody's fault."

* * *

**September 14, Morning**

"Legolas – come here!"

The young Elf scrambled up the tree from which Aeroniel had called him. She was on one of the higher branches, keeping watch. He climbed up to join her, managing, with some difficulty, to find a branch that would support his weight.

"What is it?"

"Candnaur." She gestured; following the direction of her finger, he saw silver hair shining in the moonlight.

"Has nobody taught him to keep his hood up?" Legolas muttered. "He will have the Orcs down on him. How did he manage to get this far?"

"He must have come with Meluial."

She gestured again. Legolas, looking closely, saw a much better-concealed Elf just ahead of Candnaur, leading a pack horse carrying supplies. All the warriors' camps in distant or dangerous areas were supplied from the nearest permanent outpost; once a week, an experienced scout came with food, letters, and the occasional parcel. Legolas could not imagine how Candnaur had persuaded Ellaurë, who was decidedly _not_ a fool, to let him accompany the Elf she had sent.

"Does Saeldur know?"

"Do you think he does? He has been dicing merrily all evening. I do not think he is going to be pleased."

"Nor do I," Legolas muttered, climbing down to the ground.

* * *

**September 19, Evening**

This time it was Tathar who rode to their camp with a week's worth of _lembas_. Legolas did not bother to get up. Somebody would tell him if something needed his attention.

Saeldur, his tears spent, was sprawled beside Legolas, his head on his friend's shoulder. It was clear that his grief was affecting him: he had his cloak around him, although the night was not very cold, and he had refused all offers of food or drink. Legolas had not pressed the point: missing a meal would do him no harm, and, since events had proven that they could do not retake the woods immediately south of the border with such meagre numbers, they would be returning to the stronghold in a few days.

"Legolas?"

"Yes?"

"What will I tell my parents? They would not have let him come after me if they had not believed that I would look after him if it came to a fight."

"They will not blame you, _mellon nîn_. You did your best."

"My best does not appear to be not good enough."

Legolas sighed, slipping an arm around Saeldur.

"This was not your fault. If anything, it was mine for letting him stay."

"You could not have stopped him," Saeldur replied with a hint of mirth. "It may have escaped your notice, Legolas, but he is – was – not an archer – not even a warrior – and not bound to take your orders."

Legolas shrugged.

"I could have sent him back by force. It would have worked, and it would not have been the first time I had done things that I had no right to do."

"Are you trying to take my mind off guilt?"

"It was working very well until now."

Saeldur smiled, but he said no more. A moment later, Legolas, looking at him, noticed that his eyes were lingering too long on the stars. He gave his friend a light shake.

"Go and get some sleep."

Saeldur got to his feet and hoisted himself up into the nearest tree. Legolas watched him until he was safely settled on a stout bough. Then he went to find Aeroniel.

"How is he?" she asked.

Legolas shook his head.

"Taking it hard... But we will be home soon."

She looked at him sharply.

"We are leaving?"

"Do we have a choice? This was to have taken a week; it has gone into three, and we are gaining not an inch of ground. If there is any hope, it is to leave now and return later with reinforcements." He hesitated. "Was there a message from – ?"

"No." Aeroniel squeezed his shoulder. "Perhaps it means he is calming down."

Legolas managed a smile.

"I suppose no letter is better than an angry letter. And he will certainly not be pleased to see me back."

* * *

**September 14, Morning**

_I trust you have everything you need. If you want for anything, Ellaurë will be happy to help._

Legolas looked down at the signature – but there was no signature, only the king's seal, and the letter itself, in Istuion's hand, was coldly impersonal. He shivered. He could not remember his father having been this angry with him ever before. He would have preferred _anything_ to this contained displeasure.

He folded the letter, his mind going to the painful task of composing a reply. He did not know how Thranduil would react to the news that failure was looming.

Raised voices broke into his thoughts. The young Elf looked up to see Saeldur and Candnaur facing each other across the campfire, both looking furious. With a soft curse, he scrambled to his feet. They were far from home, fighting a losing battle. Spirits were low and tempers were fraying. The last thing he needed now was more trouble.

"_Daro!_" he snapped, hurrying up to them. "What is happening?"

Saeldur turned to him.

"My brother has come running here after me because he thinks I need a nursemaid! This is ridiculous – not even the novices are treated like this! I have not gone through years of weapons training and been a warrior for centuries after that to be told that I am unable to look after myself in battle."

"I never said that you could not look after yourself," Candnaur countered. "But even the most skilled of warriors can be taken down."

"And you want me to cower behind the king's walls –"

"I want you to _think_! Have I ever objected to your riding to battle? But this is not the moment. You must be reasonable. Come back with me – give _Nana _a few months, that is all I ask."

"Saeldur," Legolas began gently, but before he could say more, his friend cut in furiously.

"I do not need to hide! I am perfectly capable of defending myself – you know this! And you cannot deny me the right to fight for our home, Legolas! You cannot send me back!"

"Saeldur," Legolas said, more firmly. "_Enough._ I will not force you to go anywhere. You have my word. But you should think about what Candnaur says. There is no shame in spending a few months away from the field of battle, and there will be Orcs and spiders aplenty when you return." He turned to the other Elf. "And _you_ – how you convinced Ellaurë to let you come, I do not know, but at first light you are leaving. This is far too dangerous!"

"Too dangerous for me, but not for Saeldur?" Candnaur demanded. "I may not be a warrior, but I can take care of myself. And, in any case, you cannot order me to go! I had leave to come here."

Legolas was on the point of telling two of the warriors to put him on a horse bound hand and foot and send him back – they would do it, if he asked it of them. But that might cause more trouble than it was worth. Besides, Candnaur, no matter how inconvenient his presence, could not be sent defenceless back through the forest, and the scout who had come with him was long gone. He could ill spare a warrior to escort him back.

He glanced at Saeldur, who nodded curtly.

* * *

**September 22, Afternoon**

It was seldom that the warriors of the Colhador returned to the stronghold as such a picture of dejection. They rode in silent single file behind Legolas, who, for once, did not respond to the trees' welcome. Aeroniel, who was acting as rearguard, was the only one who managed a smile for the guards.

The courtyard was empty, other than the grooms who came to take the horses. Legolas handed the reins over and turned to Saeldur, who had been right behind him.

"Shall I come with you?"

It was customary for any captain or commander to make a personal visit to the families of the fallen, but Candnaur had not been under his command, and given the circumstances, he thought Saeldur might want to speak to his parents in private.

But his friend nodded gratefully.

"Please."

Legolas squeezed his friend's hand. This was more than just duty – this would be even more difficult than presenting himself to his father with news of failure.

He glanced at Aeroniel. In a moment she was beside them.

"Lady Celephindeth?" she whispered. Legolas jerked his head in assent.

* * *

**September 13, Evening**

"Candnaur has gone after Saeldur."

Thranduil looked up at the archery master.

"I know. Glânol told me."

"You know this is going to lead to disaster?" Thorontur demanded, crossing his arms and glaring at his friend. "I hope you are pleased with yourself!"

"I do not know what you mean."

"Do you not? And I suppose you will tell me you do not feel sorry for the boy in the least?"

"Candnaur?"

"_Not_ Candnaur."

"I see no reason to feel sorry for anybody else."

"You should start with yourself! I never saw such a fool. Do you know why you are so angry with Legolas? It is because you trust him so completely. You have completely forgotten that he is an Elf like any other and you believe that your son, the Valar preserve his reckless soul, will do anything you ask of him. And when he told you that something could not be done –"

"He was arguing with me!"

"What of it? Is argument no longer allowed in this kingdom? You were furious with Norgalad for accusing you of tyranny and you did not dare take it out on him in case you _really_ became a tyrant –"

"I do not have to listen to this!"

"And Legolas bore the brunt of it because he is your son and he will try to do what you ask, even if you ask the impossible to keep the council quiet. Try explaining to _them_ that they are fools for expecting you to do more than is possible. Are they not safe within the stronghold, and safe on our trails and the Elf-path? We are all sorry that our home has been overrun by spawn of Sauron –"

"You are being absurd!"

"_I _am being absurd? Look at you! You could not be half as calm as you are if you did not believe that Legolas will do the impossible!"

"Do _you_ not believe it?"

"No," Thorontur said. "Because this time it _is_ impossible. You would know that, if you thought about it. And you would also know that Legolas will never forgive himself for failing you. What were you thinking?" Thranduil glared at his friend and stalked out of the room.

* * *

**September 22, Afternoon**

"_You_ killed him?" the _elleth_ whispered, staring at Legolas in horror.

"_Naneth_," Saeldur began uncomfortably, but she waved him to silence, her gaze not moving from Legolas' face. The young Elf felt his cheeks heat under her scrutiny.

"My lady –"

"How _could_ you? He was no warrior. How could you let the Orcs take him?"

Legolas looked into her eyes unhappily. What could he tell her? That they had been outnumbered and outflanked? That the Elves had been tired after days of endless fighting? What would such details matter to a mother who had lost her son?

"I am sorry," he said quietly.

"And even then," she went on, "we could have sent more warriors to get him – to rescue him. If you had not killed him, they might have been on their way to save him _now_. He might have been safe with me in a few days."

"Lady Celephindeth," Aeroniel said gently, speaking for the first time, "you know that it is nearly impossible to rescue someone taken by Orcs. His sufferings in their dens would have been terrible. There _was_ no choice."

"Then why were you even _there_?" Celephindeth demanded, her voice shaking. "What was your purpose there, Prince Legolas, if not to keep the forest safe for those who dwell in it? Willingly – even gladly – I saw my son ride under your command, believing you would be able to ensure some measure of peace. Yet now you tell me you cannot even do that."

"My lady –"

"And why are you here now? If you are waiting for my forgiveness, you are wasting your time. Go." Legolas stared at her. She repeated, more firmly, "_Go._"

He felt Aeroniel's hand at his elbow. The touch jolted him to action: he bowed formally and left the room. Aeroniel was beside him as he stepped out into the sunshine. They walked towards the courtyard in silence, broken when they heard hurried footsteps and Saeldur's voice behind them.

"Legolas – _Legolas_!"

Legolas turned. Saeldur gripped his shoulder.

"Legolas, do not hold it against her. She does not mean it. She has suffered much – she will think better of her words when she has calmed down. Please." He paused. "I must return. I cannot leave her alone now. Get some rest. You need it as much as any of us!"

With that, he was gone.

Legolas stood motionless. He knew what he ought to do now – go to the council chamber and tell the king everything that had happened. But he could not bring himself to do it, or to face the disappointment that he knew he would see in his father's face. Not so soon.

"He is right," Aeroniel said suddenly. "You have not slept for days. Go and get some rest. I will report to the king."

* * *

**September 20, Evening**

"If you are so pleased with how you treated your son, why are you sitting here fletching his arrows?"

"I did not say I was pleased about it," Thranduil muttered. "But I can do nothing about it now." He laid a finished arrow aside. "He must be running out of arrows. I do this far better than even the quartermaster."

"That you do," Thorontur conceded. "And to think I remember a time when you could barely manage to fit an arrowhead to a wooden shaft! I think I can trace this fascination of yours to when Master Bainion announced the date for Legolas' archery trials. Anyone would have thought it was an arrow-fletching test for the fathers of the warriors, the way you struggled to learn how to do it properly."

"Well, I can do it now." Thorontur smirked, and Thranduil flung a piece of wood at him. "I admit it. I was wrong. Short of going, myself, to apologize, this is the best I can do."

* * *

**September 22, Afternoon**

Legolas, on reaching his sitting-room, did not bother even to unstrap his quiver. He staggered to the window, dropped to his knees beside it, and buried his head in his arms. When the tears came, he did not try to stop them. He did not know whether what was upsetting him was guilt or the knowledge that he would, sooner or later, have to face his father.

When his grief had finally abated into the occasional soft sob, he realized, with a start, that he was not alone. His cheek was resting on a grey-clad knee, and a gentle hand was, and had been for some time, caressing his head.

"My king –"

"Hush." Thranduil let his son take his hand and kiss it. "I can hear it tomorrow."

"Aeroniel said she would tell you –"

"She came to me. She is now telling the council." The Elven-king laid his hand on the bowed head. "She told me enough for me to know that I had a more important duty than sitting in the council chamber."

"I am sorry."

"As are we all. Candnaur did not deserve to die, and his family certainly did not deserve to suffer another terrible loss... But if you are sorry about anything _you_ did, Legolas, then you have no cause. His fate would have been far worse if you had not prevented it."

"I failed you –"

"No!" Thranduil snapped. "I will not have you saying such things. You did not fail me. You could never fail me. All your life you have been a joy to me, and my greatest source of pride. Do you understand, Legolas?"

Without waiting for an answer, he stood, pulled his son to his feet, and, as smoothly and efficiently as a well-trained page, began unbuckling the strap holding Legolas' quiver in place. In a few moments, the quiver lay on a table with Legolas' cloak flung carelessly over it, and the young Elf was ensconced in the window-seat holding a cup of wine laced with some calming herbs.

"You should know something," Thranduil said abruptly, sitting down again. "The day before you left there were... words... in the council." Legolas shot him a questioning glance, and he shrugged. "You know what Norgalad can be like."

"_Ada_ –"

Thranduil squeezed his hand to silence him.

"I am not saying that excuses what I said to you, and if there were some way I could undo it, I would. After you left... You do not know how terrified I was that you would not return, and the last words I spoke to you were in anger." Legolas slid unconsciously closer to his father. "I will not ask you to forgive me," Thranduil went on softly. "You have every right to be angry with me, and I will not blame you if you are. I would not have spoken like that to anybody else." He turned, looking into the blue eyes so like his own. "I should not have spoken so to you. If I can do anything to redeem myself –"

"_Ada_, please, do not talk like this." Legolas smiled, although his eyes were too bright. "You do not have to explain. I understand. And penitence does not suit you."

Thranduil could not help smiling back.

"You have your mother's heart."

* * *

**Sindarin Translations**

Sîdh – Peace

Ada – Dad/Daddy

Mellon nîn – My friend

Daro – Stop

Nana – Mum/Mummy

Elleth – Female Elf

Naneth – Mother

* * *

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review.


	5. A King in Winter

**Summary:** Fighting a losing battle, forced to lead his people north to escape the horror and havoc unleashed on Eryn Galen by the power of Sauron, Thranduil tries to find peace.

**Teitho Prompt:** Giving Gifts, Receiving Gifts

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Tolkien.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Calenlass, for comments, suggestions, and patience with questions. *hugs*

**Rating:** PG

* * *

**A King in Winter**

All around me is despair. The children shuffle through the forest in stunned silence, unable to believe that they may never again see the only home they have known in their short lives. The adults are scarcely less upset; they, unlike the Elflings, know precisely what is happening. A pall has descended over the ragged company: there is not one of us who cannot feel the Shadow that has descended on Greenwood the Great like the fall of night.

What have I done?

I promised.

I promised that I would keep them safe. I promised that I would make them happy. I promised that I needed no magic ring to keep the remnants of Sauron's evil from defiling our beautiful home.

And now here I am, leading my people away to the north. We fled like thieves in the night, and it still rankles. We ran, leaving the warriors to cover our escape as best they could, to reclaim our home from the Orcs if they could. And I, who should have stood in the front ranks of the army as my father always did, led the ignominious retreat.

"Do not be absurd," Thorontur said impatiently when I told him I intended to stay with the warriors instead of leaving with the people. "They need you more than we do."

"I cannot ask the warriors to stay and fight if I do not do it myself!"

"Thranduil, think about what you are saying! Now, when our home is in ruins and our people are broken, is when you are needed most – needed as King. Who will lead our people if you should fall here?"

"Legolas," I said impatiently; when he flushed scarlet, I realized the truth. "You have given Legolas leave to stay?"

"Arbellason has," he replied, busying himself with some papers so that I could not see his face. "There was no help for it. His friends are all staying. We can hardly expect him to go."

"That settles it," I snapped. "I _am_ staying –"

"You are not," Thorontur replied flatly. "If we have to send you away bound hand and foot, we will do it, Thranduil. We cannot risk losing both you and Legolas, not now. Since he is staying, you must go."

"My son is not staying here without me!"

"Just now you were eager to share the fate of the warriors. Are you so unwilling to share the worry of their parents?"

I drew a deep breath. I knew he was right, although I could not bring myself to admit it.

I knew he was right – I _still_ know he was right. But had I known then what I do now, that what was meant to be only a few weeks of separation would drag into months as the warriors battled endlessly on in a desperate attempt to save our home, all the duty in the world could not have made me leave my son behind.

I am startled from my thoughts by a breaking twig as Arbellason hurries up to me. He is here commanding the half of the army that came north with us, while Thorontur stayed to take charge of those who guarded our flight.

"What do the Dwarves say?" I ask, knowing that it cannot possibly be anything good.

"They are working as quickly as they can. But they cannot tell us when they will finish." He pauses. "Do you want to inspect what they have done so far?"

I agree, for no other reason than that it will give me something to do and take me away from the accusing stares of my people. He leads me to the entrance to the caverns. I cannot suppress a sigh as I bend practically double – the doorway is still only Dwarf-height – and enter. Silvan Elves seldom take kindly to caves, and my Silvan subjects will surely detest being enclosed by stone. But this is the best I can do for them, now: the trees will always be there if they want to spend their time outdoors.

Somehow these caverns do not remind me of Menegroth, although Menegroth was what I had in mind when I ordered their construction. I cannot quite tell what the difference is. Perhaps it is only that, for now, these caverns are empty except for the Dwarves chipping away at the walls and ceilings.

Heads turn as we walk past, and I fidget uncomfortably. I cannot forget how Thingol was slain.

Arbellason, paying the glowering Dwarves – and why should they glower when I am paying them well for their labour? – no more mind than if they had been petulant children, leads me through yawning rooms and rough-hewn corridors, up and down crudely-cut flights of stairs, until we reach a short hallway with only one Dwarf working in it.

"The royal quarters," Arbellason says. I nod. I left him and Norgalad to work out most of the details of the new stronghold between them: it was all I could do to keep the people from outright rebellion as the nights grew darker.

He indicates the door at the end of the hallway.

"That leads to your apartments... The rooms to the left are guestrooms in the unlikely event that Galadriel and Celeborn ever deign to visit us. The last room to the right is your private dining-room. But I thought you might want to see _this_ first."

He leads me to halfway down the corridor and through the doorway to the right. I am unable to suppress a gasp.

With all the twisting and turning to get here, I had not realized that we had approached the side of the mountain. The walls slope gently inwards, and have already had large windows cut into them, so that the late afternoon sun fills the room with warmth and light. Already, and even in the middle of winter, ivy has crept up to one of them, green tendrils snaking in and trailing cheerfully down the wall.

"I had no idea a _cave_ could be made so... bright," I say at last.

"That is because _you_ do not understand stone, Elven-king," a gravelly voice says. I look around for its source, and finally see the Dwarf glaring at me around a doorframe. "And what about the balcony?" he adds.

"The balcony?"

"Go and see it," Arbellason offers.

The Dwarf gets to his feet with much clanking, and I realize with a start that he is wearing full body armour.

Full body armour. And a helmet. And, sweet Elbereth, even his battle-axe.

With great difficulty, I refrain from commenting as I follow him to the balcony.

It has been cut from an outcrop of stone, and the natural slope of the mountainside means that any Elven warrior, especially one as relentless in the pursuit of mischief as Legolas, will certainly be able to scramble up to the balcony from the ground.

"We can have the outcrop cut away beneath," Arbellason offers, prompting the Dwarf to mutter under his breath.

About to consent, I suddenly change my mind and shake my head. A dark time is upon us, and I am not about to deprive Legolas of whatever relief he can get, no matter what it costs me in sleepless nights.

"Let it be," I say.

Arbellason nods, understanding. We leave the room and he shows me quickly over the rest of the caverns. Less than an hour later we are outdoors again. A sudden breeze has sprung up, stirring the snow beneath our feet. I realize, with a start, that tonight is Midwinter's Night – and, by an odd coincidence, the night of the Winter Moon.

"There will be a feast," Arbellason offers, guessing my thoughts. "The cooks are at work already."

I am grateful that he remembered in time to order the preparations. The people have endured a great deal: they have travelled farther than many of them hoped to do until the final journey across the Sea, and they have put up with warriors' privations for several months. They do not deserve to be deprived of the Midwinter celebration because their king was forgetful.

"I wish I had better news to give them," I say softly. Some of them, I know, still hope that the warriors in the south will be able to drive the Orcs away so that we can return in the spring. I hoped the same, in the beginning.

I know now that nothing of the kind can happen. The servants of the Necromancer are more numerous than any of us could have imagined. Thorontur's reports have spoken of holding the lines for hours only to be pushed back by a fresh wave of Orcs, of an endless string of defeats as the forces of the Shadow advance inch by inch into Greenwood. How he has lasted this long I do not know: such a hopeless campaign would have driven anybody else to despair. But he _has_ lasted, and given us precious weeks.

His last letter said that he had finally managed to halt their advance; while it is unlikely that we will be able to regain any of the lost ground in the near future, at least we are safe now. We will be able to claim our lives once more.

Legolas' letters are far less informative. They arrive with regularity – before we parted, I took his promise to write to me every time a courier was sent north. But, usually written from horseback or when he is half-asleep from weariness, his communications tend to be neither legible nor coherent and do little to reassure me of his physical and mental wellbeing.

The moon is rising now, and the last of the daylight has just faded. The snow seems to glow beneath our feet as we make our way to the clearing where a bonfire is being lit.

"Have you invited the Dwarves?" I ask. I do not particularly like them, but it is the courteous thing to do.

"I did, and they expressed a strong preference for staying in the mountain and sleeping."

I do not try to hide my relief. The people are restless, most of them worrying about friends or family in the south. They need this night, and they need it without any outsiders to dampen their enthusiasm for the festivities.

"I have a gift for you," Arbellason goes on. I give a guilty start, and he laughs. "Do not worry, Thranduil. I know you remembered nothing. I did not expect you to, with everything else you have to concern you. But I will give it to you later. Come – the people are waiting for you to begin!"

I go with him, a little regretfully. I am in no mood to celebrate. How can I be, with Orcs overrunning my borders and my realm in chaos? But this is one of the duties I _cannot_ ignore at a time like this. I cannot control the outcome of the battle to the south – that is in Thorontur's hands – but I can try to make this night happy for those who are with me.

The clearing is already thronged. The Elflings have been installed on the forest floor near the bonfire, snuggled in blankets against the cold that their bodies have not yet grown strong enough to ignore. They look determined to stay awake through the night, although I have no doubt that all but the oldest of them will be sound asleep by morning.

The older Elves stand around the clearing, among the trees, the bright colours of their cloaks, tunics and gowns standing out in the leafless woods. Later there will be more bonfires, and the crowd will break up into groups, but for now they are gathered together to hear their King speak.

They make way for us to walk through to the centre. As we do so, I am conscious of thousands of eyes on me.

I swallow. How many of them would have gone to Lothlórien after the debacle at the Dagorlad, but for my reassurances and promises of protection? How many of them would now have been safe there instead of fleeing their home in fear of their lives? How many, even now, are thinking that they would prefer any amount of Noldorin politics to this uncertainty?

Arbellason nudges me, and I know that I must speak. But what can I say?

"My friends," I begin, and I stop. No words are adequate to convey all that we have been through these past months. Arbellason steps closer to me in concern. I look around at all the Elves watching, some with anger, it is true, but many with sympathy; I turn to meet my friend's steady gaze, and finally I find the courage to go on.

"This is not the happiest of the Midwinter celebrations we have had," I say. "There are many Elves who were with us when we last held this feast, many leagues to the south, who are not here today. Some of them may never hold the Midwinter vigil with us again. I know you are all worried about them. I know that some of you are appalled by the thought that we are making merry in the absence of those who sacrificed so much to give us safety."

There are nods and murmurs of agreement from the crowd.

"I do not ask you to celebrate for the sake of celebration," I continue as the murmurs die down. "I ask you to honour those who have fought and died defending us. I ask you not to let the Shadow lower your spirits, because that would render their efforts useless. I ask you to ensure that when our warriors finally come to us here, they do not come to a joyless wasteland. This has been a difficult year for us all, but I ask you – I _beg_ you –to help me. We cannot let the Enemy win."

I stop, unable to say any more. Fortunately there is no need. My people understand. Slowly they disperse, more than one stopping to wish me joy first, and as the night wears on I hear sounds of determined merrymaking gradually giving way to genuine happiness.

I feel prouder of them than I can describe. For once I have done what I swore to myself I would never do, and asked of them something for which I have neither the spirit nor the courage – with Legolas in danger it is all I can do not to vent my fear and frustration on anybody in sight, and feasting is out of the question. They have risen to the challenge magnificently. They will never know it, but it is the best Midwinter gift they could possibly have given me.

I turn and walk away from the celebration. If I stay someone will surely come to me with the inevitable crown of ivy and winter berries, and I do not know if I can bear that now.

* * *

When I return to my people, two days have passed. It is night. The moon, though waning, is bright enough that I can see my way easily.

Arbellason's eyes are immediately on me, but I do not answer the unspoken question. He has a right to be displeased – I should not have disappeared without telling him, and I _certainly_ should not have ordered the trees not to let anybody find me. I have no excuse to make. It was a moment of weakness. It was unjustifiable, I know: at a time like this, a king should be stronger.

My throat burns as I contemplate my many failures. A wonderful ruler I have turned out to be! I do not want to imagine how many of my people are now wishing they had gone to Galadriel in Lothlórien instead of staying here on the promise of an arrogant young fool who thought he could be as good a king as his father.

I look around the glade where we stand. Nobody is here save the two of us. The trees are sympathetic, but unfamiliar. I shiver. It _is_ my arrogance that has brought us to this.

Arbellason's gaze is still boring into mine like a gimlet.

"Please..." I say softly. "I had to go. I could not stay. I am sorry."

He raises one eyebrow, looking uncannily like the _peredhel_. I wonder if he is in a good enough mood for me to tell him so.

"You could have been killed. _Anything_ might have happened." He sounds angry. I do not blame him. I would be furious in his place. "You will not do this again, Thranduil. Ever."

"I am sorry," I repeat. "I did not intend to worry you."

His nod is curt.

"You did not stay to see my Midwinter gift for you. After you vanished, I _hoped_ to give it to you on your return, but..."

He trails off, biting his lip. I am about to ask him what he means, but before I can, a voice – a beloved, familiar voice – rings out from behind him. I am vaguely aware of dropping my sword, for once not caring about whether a few minutes on the damp grass will make it rust.

I do not notice what is said. I do not _care_ whether he was calling a greeting to the trees or complaining about the weather: what is important is that he is here.

A moment later he steps through the trees. He has changed, my Elfling, since the time I saw him last. He walks now with the noiseless, effortlessly stealthy tread of the warrior. He is dressed like a warrior, as well, in the green tunic and brown cloak that blend so well into the forest that I do not believe I would have been able to distinguish him from the trees had his hair not been shining in the moonlight.

I am overjoyed to see him – and yet, as I look at him, I am afraid.

It is his eyes. They are not the eyes of the young Elf to whom I said farewell nearly a year ago. They are not the eyes of a warrior, either. He looks haunted, like a child who has seen too much.

"My king."

I do not know which is worse – that the first words I hear from my son after all those months of separation are so totally devoid of emotion, or that his smile is so clearly forced. He bows his head in formal greeting, but although I am expecting him to fling himself into my arms – although I am _hoping_ he will do it – he only stands there, waiting.

Clearly I am both a terrible king and a terrible father.

"Legolas. How are you?"

The question is so ridiculous that I nearly laugh. No wonder he does not want my company.

"I am well," he replies.

I do not bother to refute his statement. We both know he is lying. But what right have I to demand an answer of him, I who am no longer worthy of asking his allegiance, leave alone his affection?

I look at Arbellason instead. "If this was your gift –"

"His gift?" another voice interrupts. "His gift, nothing. He would have delayed this if he could." Thorontur drops from the trees to stand on Legolas' other side. "Your son's company is _my_ gift to you. I am sorry we could not be here in time for the festival – although, from what I can tell, it would have made little difference." He glares at me. "We have been here for _hours_."

"I am sorry," I manage.

"Never mind." He beckons to Arbellason. "There is much to be said about his stubbornness, but we can leave it for later. I do not know about Thranduil, but my archer needs rest, not a lecture – not even a lecture meant for his father." He claps Legolas paternally on the shoulder. "I will see you in the morning, Elfling."

Legolas nods, but does not speak. Thorontur turns and begins to walk away. About to join him, Arbellason stops suddenly, hurries to me and hands me a small cloth-wrapped package.

"I doubt you will like this as much as Thorontur's gift, but you will need it in the days to come," he says cryptically. In a murmur that will not carry to Legolas, he adds, "Do not worry, Thranduil. He is not angry with you. He is only battle-weary."

I nod my thanks and unwrap the bundle. What falls out is a painting, a miniature in a delicate silver frame. It is of the three of us, Lindariel, Legolas and me, painted when Legolas had seen only a handful of summers. I have to blink away tears as I look at it. When we fled, with every precious second bought at the cost of Elven blood, I did not have time to collect any portraits, not even my favourite one of Lindariel and Legolas. While Arbellason's gift is certainly not as good as having Legolas before me in the flesh, it means more than I think even he will ever understand.

"Thank you," I choke.

He smiles.

"Do not worry, Thranduil. You are a good king."

Then he is gone, and I am alone with Legolas. The thought makes me nervous, which is ludicrous. Why should I be uncomfortable about being left alone with my Elfling? But I am nervous, and angry that I am nervous, and... I look up to see Legolas' eyes on me, disconcerting in their knowing scrutiny. I flush and turn away, seating myself on a fallen log to hide my confusion.

"I am sorry, Legolas."

"What for?"

I should not answer. I truly should not answer. Legolas has enough troubles of his own without being burdened with mine. What horrors he has seen during these past months I do not want to imagine. Now that he is finally home, he deserves better than a litany of my errors.

But my tongue is forming the words, and I have neither the strength nor the will to stop it.

"I have been a bad king." I hear a small snort of disbelief, and I shake my head. "I have, Legolas. You will know once you have had a chance to speak to somebody else. I am so sorry. I had hoped never to see a time when I would be ashamed to admit my actions to you. I have failed in my duty. I –"

I pause, draw a deep breath, and turn to him again. I will tell him what I must, and I will not do it with my face turned away like a coward.

Before he can stop me, I launch into an explanation of how I have failed. He should understand. I have to make him understand. It is possible that when he does, he will disown me as one unfit to be either king or father. I do not know how I will live with that, but I know that I cannot lie to my son.

I tell him what I have never told even Thorontur or Arbellason – of my mother's final counsel, before she sailed, to take the remnants of our people to Lothlórien if the power of the Enemy should prove greater than any of us had imagined. I tell him how my own arrogance, my refusal to bow to what I must confess I still consider dangerous Noldorin politics, kept me from asking aid when it might have been useful. I tell him how, in my blind pride, I condemned the warriors – condemned _him_ – to months of fruitless, bloody battle. I tell him how I have failed my people, failed my friends, and failed him.

As I speak he draws closer to me. As soon as he is near enough I seize his hand and hold it as tightly as I can. I expect him to try to pull away, but he only lowers himself to the ground, rests his head on my knee, and looks up at me with compassion brimming in his blue eyes.

I do not deserve compassion, but I am grateful for it. Disgust I could not have borne, not from Legolas.

It is some time before I stop talking, but he does not move a muscle. When I finish, he sighs, still looking at me sympathetically.

"And all that fear you bore alone?" he asks, squeezing my hands. "I wish I had been here, _Ada_. I might have been able to help you, a little."

I almost laugh. He is so much like Lindariel, my soft-hearted little Elfling. I wish that circumstances had not forced him to become a warrior – he has never said that he wants anything else, of course, but through the concerned anxiety in his eyes I can still see shadows from the battles he has known.

"You help me more than you know," I assure him, disengaging one hand from his to run it over his warrior braids. "More than I deserve," I add in a whisper.

"_Ada._" He sounds stern now, as he straightens to bring himself closer to my eye level. "You must stop thinking such things." It is almost an order. I stifle a laugh. I can barely wait for the day when he will be old enough to be given command of my archers. "You are a good king." He leans forward. "You are a _brave _king. And you are the very best of fathers."

For the first time he is truly smiling: a small smile, but it feels to me like a sudden burst of summer sunshine in the cold air.

And that is the greatest gift of all.

* * *

_Ada_ – Dad/Daddy

* * *

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